silence your wicked tongue
by Relala
Summary: Loki is brought to Midgard to clean up the aftermath of the New York City attack. Thor makes the mistake of taking off his gag. •WRITTEN FOR THE THIRTY FICLETS CHALLENGE•


******_~ silence you_****_r wicked tongue ~ _**  
Thor & Loki .** T.** 1,323

* * *

A broken street of rubble, littered with bits of broken alien ships and crumbled building. Thor doesn't need to hear his brother to know that behind his gag he is groaning. He falls against his elder brother, green eyes hooded. It's a look that practically says: _are you kidding me?_ Thor laughs, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"Don't give me such looks. You brought this upon yourself."

Behind the gag Loki lets out a series of grumbles. It's amazing how Thor doesn't need words to understand him. He knows that Loki is protesting the unfairness of the situation. _Will you mock __me without letting me protect myself?_

Thor tilts his head in consideration. The gag is there to prevent Loki from talking circles around Thor or any other merciful fool who might listen to the Liesmith's tales. Odin himself has sanctioned it. It is Loki's tongue that has taken him so far to the brink of ultimate power and destruction and it is for this reason that he's being deprived of its use. The punishment is fitting. It is, in many ways, almost exactly the same to the one which Thor himself faced when Mjölnir was taken from him.

A pang runs through Thor when he considers this. Fitting it might be, but he still remembers the hollowness inside his chest when his hammer was taken from him. It's not just a weapon, just as his brother's tongue is not just a means of speech. It's about who and what they are. Without Mjölnir Thor is only half of the man he usually is and without his words Loki is nought but a pale shadow of himself, stripped of language and the magics which depend on ancient, twisting phrases.

Mjölnir hangs at his hip, thumping comfortably as he moves. Thor beacons his brother to his side.

"I'll not tolerate excuses," he warns. "You destroyed their city and now you have to help repair it."

Loki rolls his eyes. He has never made excuses for his actions. _I do what I want._That's what he'd told their father when asked the reasoning behind his schemes and never once had he offered and apology for his actions. The King had shook his head wearily and decreed that someone had to hold him responsible for his actions. Loki had scoffed, but it did him no good. Odin had sent the two Princes of Asgard to the debris of New York city the next day—one son a captive, one son a jailer, both with the same mission.

Thor sighs. Something tells him this day won't end in his favour. Still, despite his misgivings, he reaches around the device and fiddles with its many locks. A Stark invention. Thor and modern technology mix about as well as water and oil and it takes him quite a while to figure the electronic gag out. Loki fidgets impatiently under his hands, all but bouncing on his feet until Thor reminds him that he could always leave the gag in place. That stops his wiggling and, finally, the gag comes apart with an electronic hiss.

Loki stretches his mouth experimentally. He wets his lips, clucks his tongue. "That's better. My tongue has better uses than to lick the back of some metal gag."

"Perhaps," Thor allows. He has never doubted the value of Loki's tongue. No one has. If anything the gag is proof that all of Asgard understands how great a weapon it can be. "Though you might consider the fact that if I don't approve of your uses of it I can always reapply the contraption."

"And what activity does the future king deem fit for my tongue?"

Thor smiles. "Your silvered tongue was always best when it sang my praises, brother."

Loki almost laughs. The corners of his eyes crease and the edge of mouth twitches up as if pulled by its own accord, a fish on a hook. The bond of brotherhood—left for more than five hundred years to brew inside their hearts—is slowly triumphing over what isn't even a decade of hate and confusion. Just a little more and Thor might be able to catch his brother completely.

"Arrogant as always," Loki purrs. He sounds like a cat who's just had the proverbial cream set before him and his eyes change, their usual snake scale green darkening to jade. "Although I _suppose_ you deserve it. It's unbecoming of great men to cloak themselves in false modesty."

Again, Thor tilts his head in consideration. They call his brother the Liesmith. He is a master of his craft. Never does he outright lie. Instead, Loki weaves truth and the lie into one web, leaving the listener to pick out which threads are false and which are true. It's nearly impossible to come out the victor in his games. Thor knows this. Loki's compliments are always thinly veiled insults. He shakes his head and his blond hair tumbles around his face, framing a weary smile.

"Can you not just say what you mean, brother?"

This time Loki does laugh—high and harsh, with a touch of acidic bitterness that has Thor questioning his earlier surety. Perhaps a few years are enough to taint a man's heart after all.

"My tongue is silvered. It's precious only to those who understand it's value." says Loki.

"I've no desire to shift through your sentences for hidden gems," Thor rumbles. Clouds pass through his summer sky eyes and above their heads a true storm mirrors his emotions. "I've not the patience nor the time. If you don't wish to speak with me, then we shall set to work."

He moves towards the largest bit of the wreckage and Loki trails behind him, the promise of mischief putting a bounce in his step even with the hard work ahead.

"Thor?" says Loki, infusing his brother's name with childish innocence. He makes sure to widen his eyes and cock his head to the side just so, making himself look delicate and frightened just as Thor might remember him from all the times when he snuck into his room as a child and professed that there was a monster under his bed, a ghost in the closet, a strange shadow outside his window.

Hesitation skips across Thor's face. He eyes Loki cautiously. "Yes?"

"If you don't like the sound of my voice, perhaps you should have left the gag in place."

Thunder cracks. At least, for a moment, Loki thinks it does, but Thor has better control than that. The sudden crack that rings out across the street is actually the sound of the metal gag flying past his head and connecting with the trees behind him. The thick brown truck splinters; the gag breaks in two.

Loki eyes the damage with a raised eyebrow. "Impressive."

"I was trying to help you!" says Thor. His hands are balled into fists at his sides and he _shakes_, fury raging against logic as he struggles not to hurt his brother. "Or do you enjoy having your tongue bound?"

"I enjoy the pain written across your face," Loki says. "I appreciate your dull wit. Did think that I would thank you? Did you remove my chains in hopes that I might see you as a my _saviour_? Big brother come to save his incompetent little foster brother from the chains you put there?" He laughs. "Oh, _Thor_. You're stupidity never ceases to amaze me."

Mjölnir connects with the road and the ground turns into a wave of concrete and asphalt.

"Careful, brother," Loki cautions mockingly. "You might destroy the very city you want me to rebuild."

Slowly, almost painfully, Thor raises the hammer and re-clips it to his belt. His eyes still hold the promise of violence, the threat of thunder. The air tastes of the coming rain. "Silence your wicked tongue, Loki."

With one hand, the Trickster makes a show of zipping his lips.


End file.
